


Streetwalker

by 100KlicksAway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Endgame Sterek, M/M, Mild Slavery, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Prostitution, dark!Peter, dubcon touching, rentboy!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100KlicksAway/pseuds/100KlicksAway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 3295, things are... different. Werewolves and other supernatural creatures are out in the open, and they pretty much rule the world.<br/>Crime is rampant, with nothing to stop it.<br/>Cities are overwhelming and huge.<br/>Stiles needs to find any way possible to pay for the massive hospital bills after his dad was shot and suffered a heart attack... He turns to what he can to get what he can..</p><p>****The underage is when nearly 18-y-o Stiles is with an adult. Age of consent is 16, but some people feel anything below 18 is underage, so tagging it! **********</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Motorcycle Driveby

 Stiles grimaced as his stomach pinched and twisted, but he kept on going. The man above him tugged on his hair even harder and groaned, thrusting roughly into Stiles' mouth. Stiles winced, the tears welling up at the rough contact of it all. The man came, the warm salty thickness shooting into Stiles' mouth and onto his lips. The man pulled out, threw a few bills down on the ground, and strode off.

Stiles gagged and spit out the remaining vile taste in his mouth, viciously wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He choked a little bit and let out a tiny sob before stifling it. Stiles picked up the bills on the ground and counted- $40. He was $10 off, the stupid bastard had cheated him. Stiles fell against the brick wall behind him and cried.

Later, he got up and walked down the street, leaning back up against his corner. A few cars slowed down but he shrunk back against the wall. Ever since his closest friends, Lydia and Scott, had been taken and not returned, he had been especially wary of drive-bys and refused to get into the car with them. Rather, he took them into a back alley and finished them with his hands or his mouth. Many of his... clients... desired a different way, but he refused them. It might have even been part of his appeal, having something that many wanted but would never get. He knew the dark streets and alleys much better than they did, he could always evade them easily when they got too rough.

Stiles sniffed as he watched for potential clients. There was one hover car... it looked rather familiar... The car slowed down and Stiles gulped. It was a _Hale_ car. The Hales were the most important family in the _city_ , seconded only by the Argents. They were _the_ crime lords. Stiles knew that whoever it was in the car, he would have to go with them, or risk some form of punishment (read: certain death).

Everybody in the Beacon Hills complex knew the long reach of the Hale family, but nobody could stop them. The law enforcement officers were eating out of the Hale's hands, and the general people were all too scared. The Hales were powerful, intimidating, _deadly._ Nobody who knew what was good for them messed with the big time crime families. Ever.

So, when the hover car stopped beside the corner Stiles' had claimed for himself with the window rolled down, Stiles pasted on a smile, stepped forward, and cocked his hips out in a very suggestive manner. “Can I help you with anything?” He said, licking his lips as he glanced up through his eyelashes at the car's occupants.

Holy shit, it was Peter fucking Hale.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

H o l y s h i t .

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Peter... Hale.

Stiles didn't know what to do with himself. He had been expecting someone lower in the family, like... maybe one of Derek's subordinates or something. But _Peter_? He had never expected him. Ever.

Peter was literally the _top guy._ As high as you go. Like, there was no-where higher on the foodchain. Stiles chuckled rather nervously as he waited for Peter's answer.

Peter eyed him salaciously, focusing on his hips and mouth. Stiles felt quite naked, but he didn't move from his position. He stood there and waited... and waited... and kept waiting until Peter nodded. “You'll do. Get in the car.” A door opened and Stiles scrambled into the hover car rather ungracefully, but oh well. He had skills, anyway.

The moment Stiles had sat down a seat, the door clicked shut and the car began to move rapidly. Peter eyed him before beckoning him closer. Stiles bit his lip before standing and walking over to stand before Peter. Peter grabbed Stiles' hips and spun him around roughly before yanking him onto Peter's lap. Stiles gulped as Peter began to nose at Stiles' throat, teeth scraping the sensitive skin.

“You know, I've been watching you, boy. I know exactly what you do.. Which tricks you turn... How skilled you are with what parts of your being... I know your seductive look and your look of disgust. I know what you like... and what you don't. And I know what I like, and I like you. So. I'm going to keep you, as my little... pet,” Peter whispered into the shell of Stile's ear.

Stiles was horrified. Hale's _pet?!?_ That was so abjective, so degrading, so... _true._ Stiles was going to become Peter Hale's pet, whether he liked it or not. And if he didn't like it, he'd at least have to pretend to so that he didn't get shot or something equally terrifying. Holy shit.

He knew that he'd been thinking a lot of 'holy shits', but that was pretty much his life right now. He was sitting on the lap of the crime lord werewolf boss, who's erection was currently pressing into his ass, and he just found out that he was to be his _pet._

He couldn't even.

Stiles spent the rest of the ride to the Hale estate fighting himself internally. He could either let himself be humiliated and degraded and treated like an animal, or he could flee the situation and be killed. He was pretty sure his dad wouldn't be able to live without him being alive, and his dad was all that Stiles cared about, so... the answer was pretty obvious. Stiles was going to become a plaything for the rich and famous.

He was terrified.

The hover car stopped and Stiles peered out the window as Hale unceremoniously got to his feet, dumping Stiles to the floor. It was massive, the biggest building he'd ever seen in his life. And there was _grass._ That was pretty new, too. Stiles had spent his entire life in the tunnels and roads and concrete halls of the Beacon Hills complex. He'd forgotten that grass was actually a real thing, he'd felt like it was only something in books. And trees, he saw trees, too. He knew those were real, because he didn't like buying the fruit grown in test tubes. It wasn't very good for you, and he was trying to save his dad. Eating healthy and all that.

Anyway, Stiles knew subjectively that all this... stuff... existed, but again. He'd grown up in a complex, he'd never _seen_ any of it. Stiles looked at the house again and was impressed ten times over. He'd grown up in a tiny little house; a kitchen, living room/dining room, 2 bedroom affair. That was pretty big for a two person family living in the Complex. Most people, they were lucky if they were living in housing that size if they were a four or five person family. His dad had always said that it was because they were lucky.

Stiles knew that it was because his dad was an officer. He knew what size unit most people had, and he knew what size units most of the other law enforcers had. Theirs were much bigger; Stiles' dad was obviously uncomfortable with that, though, and turned the opportunity for a big unit down.

Stiles pulled himself out of his thoughts and turned his mind back on the mansion (and the man) before him. Hale glanced at him disdainfully before snapping his fingers and stepping forward. “Come.”

Stiles immediately began trotting after him, already thinking about how well-trained he was. Of course, he didn't know what sort of freaky werewolf shit Hale was into in the bedroom, so he had no actual clue if he was well-trained or not. But, he did seem to be good at following orders so far.

Hale led the way through the massive house... castle... building thing and Stiles stepped along a few paces behind him. They stopped in front of huge carved oak doors which Hale unlocked, leading into a bedroom. Stiles gulped, instantly nervous.

“So... what are you wanting me to do?”

Hale looked at him. “Go shower. You reek.”

Stiles felt absolutely offended. It was one thing to think that someone smelled bad, but it was an entering different thing to point it out to them in a very rude manner. Stiles walked into the bathroom which Hale pointed him toward, surreptitiously sniffing his armpits as he did so. He didn't even smell that bad! He'd had a shower a few days before and he hadn't even had that many johns since then.

Stiles groaned slightly as he peeled off his sweaty, dirty (okay, yes, he totally reeked) clothes and hopping into the ridiculously hot shower. It had three different shower heads which blasted hot water at him and pretty much powerhosed the dirt right offa him. He was pretty sure it got rid of the scent, too, but he grabbed one of the body washes in the bathtub and scrubbed himself down with it quickly. It smelled sharp and expensive and really, really good.

Also, the hot water and water pressure felt amazing. Ah, water pressure... one of man's greatest inventions... Stiles was planning on spending as much time in the shower as possible. At a future date. At the current moment, he was rushing through the shower, not wanting to irritate Hale whatsoever.

As soon as he was sure that he was completely rinsed off, he hopped out of the shower. The door to the bedroom was still open and he could see Hale through the door crack, staring at him. Hale beckoned again, and Stiles walked into Hale's bedroom with the towel wrapped around his waist.

“Now, this won't do...” Peter said thoughtfully as he tugged the towel off, leaving Stiles naked and in between Hale's knees.

“Now... Let's see what you like..... Let's see if I can make you scream..” 


	2. Hands Up Above Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omigosh. Thank you SO MUCH for reading this and my other story. 
> 
> I'm so psyched, you have no clue. I've received 136 hits and 18 kudos on this since I posted it yesterday. That's CRAZY.   
> On my other story, A Little Bit of Sunshine, I've received 480 hits since I updated two days ago. 
> 
> I'm in shock. 
> 
> I'm so happy with how much people like my work! :D 
> 
> Thank you all for reading. Follow me on my tumblr at 100KlicksAway
> 
> Updating in honor of the Teen Wolf premiere TONIGHT! (In 1 hour and 25 minutes!!!)

**Chapter Track: All Around Me [Flyleaf]**

 

_**My Hands Float Up Above Me** _

 

Stiles winced as he rubbed his wrists. He'd just had his first session with one Peter Hale... it was one of the worst experiences of his life. Hale had skillfully tied him up and had Stiles blow him. He'd mentioned that he knew that Stiles hadn't sold his entire self yet, and so he was planning on saving _that_ for a special occasion. Stiles wasn't sure how to feel about that. Hale had said it as if Stiles should be flattered, but he was mostly just confused. Why didn't Hale just bend him over and take him? The scene with Hale hadn't been particularly enjoyable, but it wasn't _that_ bad. He'd turned some pretty rough tricks, and in the scheme of things, Hale had been gentle.

Stiles felt dirty, thinking of Hale as being gentle. He knew what he did. He knew what sort of person he was. He was a crazy son of a bitch with blood on his hands and a fetish for young boys. Not that Stiles was _that_ young, he was actually 17, but... The fact remained that Stiles _looked_ like he was maybe 14 or 15, and that was pretty creepy, seeing as Hale was his father's age, give or take a few years. Stiles got a pang in his gut, thinking about his father. He missed his dad... he wanted to go see him, but he wasn't sure Hale would let him. He wasn't sure if Hale would pay him, which was certainly worrying. He'd have to work up the nerve to talk to Hale about payment. It was necessary, because he was already behind in the hospital bill payments... He couldn't not pay, though, or they'd kick his dad out.

Swinging his legs gently, Stiles flopped back on the small bed behind him. After Hale's and his... _session,_ Hale had shown him to a tiny room with an even smaller bathroom attached. Stiles was intrigued as to why they'd created such a small room in the giant building that they'd created when all of the other rooms had been so big. Maybe some of them were actually smaller? And it just wasn't noticeable? Stiles had shrugged it off at the time, but now he was feeling like there was a reason for the tiny room. He was feeling imprisoned. “These are your chambers. You are to stay in them unless you are called for,” Hale had said at the time he'd shown Stiles the rooms, smiling rather creepily. Hale gave Stiles the creeps. He was curious, though, how he was supposed to eat, and stuff, if he couldn't leave his 'chambers' without permission.

He figured that maybe someone would bring him food, and that if nobody did, he'd at least be able to sneak out and either steal some or leave. He really wasn't sure, though, and he'd already been in here for a few hours and he was bored as fuck and really cold, seeing as he was still dressed in his regular street-working clothes, which didn't cover much. Sighing, he decided to just go to bed and wait it off.

Stiles woke up the next morning, stomach growling and head spinning. He felt kind of like he was hungover, or coming down from being high, or _something,_ but he knew that he hadn't taken any drugs or drank any alcohol, so he was pretty much confused. Unless Hale had drugged him, which when he was thinking about it... was totally something that could have happened. Because Hale was an asshole werewolf crime boss with an affinity for young hookers. Stiles wasn't sure whether Hale's preferences were solely male or not.

The point was, Stiles was tired and awake and he missed his dad and he had to pee but he was too lazy to get up and he was wondering what the hell was going on and what was going to happen. He figured that he'd be told at some point, and that if he wasn't, then... Whatever. He'd figure it out. Even if his 'figuring out' ended in certain death for him. He had to keep taking care of his dad... he had to get... focused... there was important shit going down and he had to figure it out.

Stiles curled further into his cushion-nest of blankets and pillows and sleepily blinked, feeling rather like a cat. He remembered that he'd need to get another injection for his control problems soon. He hadn't had one in a while, and his focus was going out of whack. He remembered reading somewhere that people used to call his problem this thing called ADD and that there were pills and stuff to fix it. Stiles was happy that he didn't have to take pills every day for it... instead, he just got his injection once a year and that fixed all those problems. Although, thinking of it, Stiles wasn't sure where the money was going to come from for the injection this year. He couldn't even afford his Dad's hospital bills as it was, he didn't think he'd be able to splurge medically on himself.

He shrugged it off and stood up, shivering a little bit before walking over the door. He put his hand on the doorknob and the door swung open, revealing an incredibly _hot_ blonde woman. Stiles didn't even _swing_ that way, he was completely bent, but this chick... She was obviously pure sex. She was holding out a tray of food, which she shoved into his chest roughly, knocking the air out of him and causing him to wheeze slightly. She pushed past him into the room and sat down rather distastefully on the bed, looking around with thinly veiled disgust.

“So. What's your name, kid?”

“Uhm... Stiles...” he responded hesitantly. Would it be better to give her a false name? What sort of mischievous deeds could she cause with the knowledge of his name? He read this one story one time, years back when his mother was still alive, that had been written thousands of years before his time. It was about a man who spun a girl's blonde hair into gold, and took her first born child... Maybe this blond woman was going to take his first born child, assuming that he ever had one. Doubtful, seeing as he was 1) gay, 2) a hooker, ie not likely to get into a relationship, and 3) currently property of the Hale family, which made any chances of getting off the streets completely obsolete.

The blond woman looked at him like he was a slug. “Who names their child _Stiles?”_

“Well, uh... It's not my actual _real_ name, so...” He said, slightly stung. He liked his nickname very much, thank you.

“Then what _is_ your ' _real name'_?” She asked mockingly, obviously getting tired of him.

“Vyacheslav Genim Stilinski!” The words snapped out of his mouth as though pulled with a string. Stiles clapped a hand over his mouth, shocked that he'd revealed that much. He never told anyone his name. Not even Scott, who'd been his best friend both on the streets and off them, knew his 'real' name. He liked to say that his real name was Stiles. That's what everybody thought... what they knew.. And here he'd gone and told this blonde bitch the name that his mother had given him the second she asked him.

She blinked at him slowly. “Uhm... I think I'll just go with Stiles.”

Stiles could feel the tiny smile twitching on his lips, but tried very hard not to let it show. He was sure that she would do something horrible to him if she thought he was laughing at her... Like, maybe beating him to death or something. He wasn't actually quite sure, seeing as she was scary... And she worked willingly for the Hales, so she was obviously psycho, too.

He knew that she worked willingly for the Hales because she could talk. The Hale family employed a large staff of both willing workers and unwilling workers- essentially slaves. The slave workers all had their tongues cut out, so that they could never speak of the atrocities that occurred in the household. Stiles shuddered at the thought that he could be one of those workers, one of those _slaves_.

“Anyway. The point of me coming in here was to give you your meal and to tell you what's going to be going on. _You_ are now property of the Hale family. You may not leave, you may not do what you want, you may not do _anything_ that you are expressly told to do. You no longer have rights. You no longer have freedom. You no longer _think for yourself._ I don't care if you don't like it; you listen. You listen well, you listen always. You are _the lowest,_ and unless you want to be beaten up by a werewolf who's no doubt, 40 times stronger than you, you listen to everyone.

“Don't speak, don't look, don't even _breathe_ without permission. You are no longer your own person. You are no longer Stiles, you are it. You have been stripped of your name, your title, yourself. No snarky, sarcastic comments, no nothing. Have I made myself clear?”

Stiles nodded timidly after hearing the whirlwind of a woman's speech. While he'd been intimidated by her before, he was terrified of her now. “Uhm... May I ask a question?”

She glared at him. “Do not _ever_ do that again. You will not speak unless you are addressed, you will not speak until spoken to, you will _never_ ask questions unless told to. This is one of the last questions you will _ever ask._ Go ahead, ask a few questions, and quickly. I don't desire to waste my time on you.”

“Am I going to get paid for this? Am I ever going to be able to leave? Will I ever be able to raise my status? Will I always be a slave? What's your name?” Stiles shot off rapidly. He wasn't going to waste one of his last chances to talk, to ask questions.

The woman looked him over before answering. “You will be paid whatever the Hales see fit to pay you. There is an account which money will be placed into twice a month. You may take money out of this at the end of the month. You will be provided for in every way, however, so that shall be mere spending money. You are allowed to leave the Hale house once a week, but you will not be allowed to leave without an escort. You _might_ be able to raise your status, if you work _very_ hard, are _very good,_ and if Hale likes you _very_ much. Otherwise, that isn't going to happen.” The woman stood and walked to the door, opening it and walking out. Right before she closed the door behind her, she turned and looked him in the eyes.

“I'm Erica.”

Stiles sat on his bed in wonder long after Erica had left the room. He remembered about his food after a while, but it was still long after it had grown hard and cold. He choked down the stale bread and cold soup, though, since he hadn't had a meal in a while and figured that he might as well eat as much as he could while he could, seeing as he still didn't know where his next meal was going to be coming from. He knew that Erica had said that he would be well provided for, but he wasn't sure what her definition of that was.

Stiles sat the tray in front of the door and sat back down on his bed, contemplating the complexities of life. Ha, no, that's not what he was doing. He was actually just thinking about his dad, about his old friends. He missed being in his classes. He remembered that he'd done really well... he was even invited to go to _college._ Nobody did that anymore, only the smartest people.

He'd read in a book one time that a long time ago, everybody who wanted to went to college. There were schools and universities for everyone, not just the smartest of the smart. Everybody had equal opportunities to learn, and to do well in life. Now though, only the very bright people got invitations to join universities, and then they had to pay an exorbitant fee. The rest of the population worked as laborers. Stiles had been planning on going to college; he'd accepted and started packing his bags and everything. He and his dad had paid the first fee...

And then his dad got shot, and everything changed.

There was a very small paycheck from the law enforcement department, which Stiles used to pay the first hospital bill. He covered the rest of it with his college savings from his summer jobs. But... his dad got much worse. The doctors proclaimed that he'd need surgery. Stiles picked up two after school jobs, and it was still not quite enough to pay for all of the medical bills. And then, during the surgery, Stiles' dad had a heart attack. Stiles had spent _years_ trying to prevent that from happening, and it occurred anyway, on the operating table.

The hospital bills built up more and more, and Stiles lost his dream of higher education. He wrote the university a letter, turning them down. He dropped out of school, picked up a full-time job with work on the side. He cut off the electricity and other unnecessary bills at home. His dad was placed into a 24 hour care unit at the hospital, costing even more money.

He didn't eat.

After he'd passes out on the job for the third time, he was fired. He lost his most well-paying job, and he didn't know where to turn. He searched everywhere for a job, but nobody would hire him. So... he turned to the streets. He started turning tricks. He ran into his remaining job's boss, who had Stiles blow him and then fired Stiles the next day. Stiles turned more tricks. He moved out of the apartment and shut off all the bills. He sent all the money he earned to the hospital. He lost more and more weight.

And now? Now he was finally hopeful. He wouldn't have to pay for food. All he had to do was send the money that he was paid to the hospital. He prayed that it would be enough to satisfy the doctors and nurses.

He prayed that he'd be able to live with himself.

He sat on his bed and prayed to gods that he'd never believed in, prayed for a brighter future, a future more like that past, the past before the Great Collapse.

Stiles hoped fervently that things would eventually get better.  


	3. Your World, It Brings Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's some really hardcore stuff in here. THIS DOES NOT FALL UNDER SAFE, SANE AND CONSENSUAL.   
> I in no way, shape, or form endorse or agree with what Peter does to Stiles here.   
> Kinda non-con/dub-con? B/c Stiles did agree to the job, but he doesn't enjoy what Peter is doing to him or whatever.   
> Might be a little trigger-warningy if any of you have been in a really bad BDSM sort situation. (THIS IS NOT GOOD TECHNIQUE. THIS IS NOT GOOD BDSM.) I'm not tagging this as BDSM b/c I don't consider this BDSM, I consider this a beating. So yeah, there's that. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading... Hopefully you enjoy at least part of this? And know that things get better for Stiles. Next chapter, actually. I promise <3

**Chapter Track: Raining All the Time [Kill Hannah]**

 

**Your World, it Brings Me Down**

 

Stiles looked down at his hands, picking at his hangnails. His hands had gotten incrediblely dry and chapped. He was so tired, so... _bored._ He wanted to go outside, smell the air, see the grass, the trees. Now that he knew those things _actually existed,_ he consistently longed for them. Yet, it wasn't something that had happened. It had been three days since he'd gotten out of this stupid room. He hadn't had anything to do, and had taken to counting the freckles and moles on his skin and making up stories about them. His injection was definitely wearing off, his focus was shot, his thoughts were fuzzy, he was annoyed.

He wasn't making any money, yet he was locked in a room with nothing to do, nobody to talk to. He was brought a tray of food three times a day, and that was his only way to count- eight trays, three days. It was the evening of the third, and he was expecting his next tray anytime soon. The food wasn't anything special, but it was something to look forward to, to hoard and eat throughout the day. He was reaching the point where the simple possession of food made him happy, but in a strange way. He was getting _possessive_ of stale bread crusts and the trays they were brought in on. Last time one of the Hale's slaves tried to take the tray back, he'd hissed at her and curled his body around it. She looked terrified and fled the room.

Stiles was scared that he was going crazy.

Tracing a finger along the wooden bedpost along his bed, he wondered if there was some way to break it, to fashion something out of the wood. He wasn't accustomed to wood; there was little to none in the Beacon Hills complex. Almost entirely stone, concrete, rusty metal, plaster, steel. It hurt him to be so close to nature, yet so far away... it reminded him of his mother.

The door clicked open and Stiles sprung to his feet, waiting in anticipation for his evening meal. He shouldn't be so excited for this... yet he was. However, it wasn't the regular maid who came and brought him food... It was Erica. At the sight of her empty hands, he burst into tears.

“What are you do- Oh, never mind. Come along,” she said, snatching his wrist and yanking her roughly after her. He stumbled as he was pulled along, still shedding tears and sniffling pathetically. He knew how strange this behavior was for him, but he felt like it was a mixture of coming down off the medication and the fact that he'd been so lonely... He hadn't talked to anyone in such a while...

Erica dragged him to a place he recognized... Oh, god. It was the big set of locked double doors that marked Peter Hale's bedroom. Stiles didn't want to go in there with him, he was so creepy.. But he was... Stiles had to think. Hale was his _employer,_ he _had_ to go in there. It was his job.

Erica reached out and rapped on the door sharply, mumbling about how escorting twinks wasn't in her job description. Erica must have heard some sort of reply from within the room. “Yes, sir.” With that, she opened the door, pushed Stiles in, and closed the door behind him.

Stiles was terrified.

The room was pitch black, and he didn't really remember much about it other than the huge bed, and the plush carpet beneath his feet. There were huge, wide windows, but they were covered in thick drapes which let no light in. Stiles couldn't see a thing, and he knew that Peter was in here with him. There was a tiny noise to his side and he spun to face it, throwing his hands up in front of him.

“Ahw, is Little Red scared of the big, bad, wolf?” Peter's voice crooned directly into his ear. “Gotta take these pesky clothes off...” With that, clawed hands ripped at his sides, tearing the clothes from his body. Stiles shrieked and pushed his hands out at where he thought Peter was. A pair of large hands caught his wrists, crushing them. Stiles let out a little whine and Peter chuckled.

“I _did_ say that I wanted to make you scream, didn't I?” With that, he pulled Stiles away from the door, pushing him until he landed on something soft which he assumed was the bed. Stiles opened his mouth to speak and Peter placed a finger to his lips, purring, “Don't make a sound, Little Red, or I just might cut your tongue out.”

Peter raised his Stiles' hands above his head and cold metal encircled them, clicking. Peter let go and Stiles realized that he was cuffed to something... he was trapped. Peter flipped him over onto his stomach and Stiles whimpered a tiny bit. He felt his legs being yanked and he resisted until it was painful, but Peter was the freaking _Alpha_ and he was much stronger than Stiles. Not for the first time, Stiles regretted being human. Peter yanked Stiles' leg down, clicking another circlet of metal around it and tightening something until Stiles couldn't move and he panicked a little, kicking out with the other leg until Peter pulled that one down and restrained it. Stiles started panicking a lot: he couldn't move. He couldn't get up, he couldn't wiggle, he was trapped.

He was trapped. Naked.

With Peter Hale.

_Peter. Hale._

His breathing came much harsher and he started to find it difficult as his anxiety began to hit him full-on. Peter began to trace lazy circles on his back. “We can't have you panicking; this is supposed to be a _fun_ experience...” With that, Stiles began to feel a drain on him; his anxiety was disappearing, falling away from him. Obviously this wasn't happening because he wanted it to, or because he felt any less anxious, but... he didn't. He felt calm and relaxed. Peter chuckled and lifted his hands. “Good boy.”

The bed tilted a little bit as Peter got up and left and Stiles was scared that he wouldn't be back for a while. However, that wasn't the case: Peter came back almost immediately, caressing Stiles' back and tracing his skin. There was no part of Stiles that wasn't ridiculously creeped out: just because the anxiety and fear had somehow been drained out of him, didn't mean that he thought this was a good situation, nor did he enjoy it.

There was a strange, soft feeling against his back. It was like.... cool, and smooth. There was another touch, in a different place at the same time. Stiles strained himself trying to think of what it was he was feeling... There were several strips of it, maybe between five and ten? He wasn't entirely sure... Whatever it was, Peter trailed it down Stiles back, making him shudder a little bit.

“Do you enjoy that, boy?” he asked, kissing Stiles on the shoulder. Stiles shook his head vehemently and Peter chuckled.

“Mmm... well, I do. I enjoy my toys... And I enjoy you. I like the vision of your creamy skin spread out before me, mine to kiss and lick and bite and _take_. I can do whatever I want to you... and the worst you can do is _scream.”_ With the final word, Peter flicked what he was holding down on Stiles back, _hard,_ and Stiles realized in one blinding, pain-filled moment exactly what it was: a flogger.

He groaned and Peter laughed. “Make that sound again, would you? Your pain is delicious.” Stiles firmly shut his mouth and held in his whimper when Peter flicked his back with the flogger again. Peter caressed his back, rubbing away the pain and soothing the burning red stripes with his tongue. Stiles hoped he was done, but Peter pulled back and hit him three times successively, each time much harder than the time preceding it. Stiles realized with horror that Peter would be able to hurt him, badly. Even regular humans could cause serious problems with floggers, and Peter was a crazy sonuvabitch werewolf.

On that thought, Peter hit him again and Stiles let out a loud groan of pain, feeling his skin split open in one place. Peter traced the cut with a clawed fingernail, splitting the skin further before lapping up the tiny beads of blood Stiles could feel welling up in the wound. Stiles buried his face farther in the pillow, desperately trying to hold back the tears pricking his eyes and the tiny gasps of pain that he couldn't seem to stop.

“Do you want me to continue, or to stop?” Peter asked, kissing his neck gently.

“P-please... please stop,” Stiles whimpered.

“Since you asked so nicely... no. You haven't made the sound I desire ever so much yet.” Stiles groaned and he could feel Peter smile through the kiss he was placing on Stiles' back. He began to use his strength to hurt Stiles and he felt like he couldn't bear it anymore, getting louder and louder until he let out a scream of pain. It was agony; the flogger's tails had started to land in the previous split-skin wounds, which was breaking open everywhere due to Peter's force. Stiles sobbed; it was even worse because between every bad hit, Peter would kiss and rub and caress Stiles sweetly in some mockery of gentleness.

Peter groaned above him and hit him again. Stiles let out an even louder scream of torment and suddenly he felt something hot spattering over his back. Peter had just came on him. On his back. All over his cuts. Holy shit, that extreme sadism had turned Peter on. And Stiles was kind of in extreme pain right now... to the point where he kinda needed to pass out, so that's exactly what he did.

 

******************************8 

When he came to again, he was lying on his stomach. He opened his eyes blearily and tried to sit up before groaning loudly at the pain and falling back down on his stomach. He breathed heavily, blowing air sharply and quickly to keep himself from screaming. “Uhnnn... oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgod...”

He sniffled, feeling tears coating his face that he didn't remember crying. He oped his eyes gingerly and looked around... He was back in his stupid fucking room, and now he couldn't even get up. He wanted to cry a lot bit, so he did. He let himself sob.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Sometimes I Give Myself the Creeps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!   
> Someone's going to come in... It's DEREK'S POV! Dunno where this came from, but yeah! Also. I've gotten 480 hits on this since I last posted. THAT IS SO AWESOME. I adore you guys. 
> 
> Derek is a little bit fucked up in the head, btw. Because... yeah.

**Chapter Track: Basket Case [Greenday]**

 

**Sometimes I Give Myself the Creeps**

 

Derek paced in his office, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. The Argents had stolen one of the Hale's major drug dealers right out from under their noses. He growled loudly, vowing to kill Kate Argent (that bitch), seeing as he knew damn well that it was her who had coordinated it. It was _always_ her. No matter what the situation was, if something happened that was shitty for Derek, Kate was behind it.

He pulled in a deep breath, calming himself, before turning and sitting back down at his desk. He had a shitload of paperwork to do now, _and_ he had to find a new drug dealer... There were a couple of people in his service who he totally thought would be good at the job, but he wasn't entirely sure that they'd be fully capable of it. He wasn't sure how much loyalty they had for him, or how much more training they would need. He had two particular characters on his mind: a 19 year old, Whittemore, and a 17 year old, Lahey.

He was considering picking Lahey over Whittemore.

Even though Whittemore had several years more experience than Lahey did, Lahey just seemed more reliable. He also was much more loyal: ever since Derek had saved him from his horrible father, Lahey had followed him around like a puppy desperate for attention. So, while he could consider a situation where Whittemore _might_ be able to be bought over by the Argents, he didn't think that Lahey would ever be able to be. Not to mention, Lahey was much more... shady-ish. While Whittemore was much more... douchebag-ish. Meaning, Lahey would overall be a better drug dealer, because people _expect_ dealers to be shady quiet people, rather than pompous assholes.

So there was definitely that. He picked up his phone and called Boyd, who immediately picked up the phone. Good man. “Yes, sir?”

“I'd like you to begin training Lahey for the dealer job,” Derek said quietly, standing and walking over to his window, where he looked out at the city around him. He shivered slightly at the delightful feeling of the power he lorded over all the others, the millions of inhabitants in the complex... It almost made him hard.

“Lahey? Not Whittemore?” Boyd asked, obviously surprised. Derek was also rather surprised; Boyd very rarely talked back, or asked questions, or said _anything,_ really, other than his customary, “Yes, sir.”

Derek was silent for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought. “Do you think that Whittemore is a better choice for the job?”

“He does have more experience, sir. Yet, I believe that Lahey is more loyal, and may do a better job.”

“Yes, that's what I thought... Why did you question me if you think Lahey is better for the job?”

“I... I wasn't sure if you were using a sort of spoils system or not. I shouldn't question your motives,” Boyd said, which was pretty damn close to an apology from him.

“Hmm. Well, train him,” Derek said, pulling the phone away from his ear and turning it off. He continued to gaze out the window thoughtfully. He had several options: he could either continue to do paperwork and similar things at his desk, he could go out into the city and visit several clients, people who owed the Hales money, whore-houses, etc to figure out business, or... he could go back to the Hale estate and figure out what the delightful aroma was in his house.

It had been there for several days, but he'd been so busy that he'd barely been home and he hadn't been able to figure out what it was. He felt the need, the want, the desire flowing through his bones, tracing every muscle and tendon, curling up through his lungs and burning his throat like cheap cigarette smoke. He _wanted._

It had been a very long time since he'd desired anything or anyone but power... it had been since Kate. Kate ruined everything, and he hadn't even cared until he smelled that and suffered the most wonderful cravings. He decided to finish up the remaining stack of paperwork on his desk and then head home. He checked his watch- it was already five, so he'd actually be home early. Derek licked his lips and got to work.

After filing through, signing, and reading over multiple sheets of paper on gambling, drugs, and prostitutes, Derek was finally done. He got to his feet, stretched, and rolled his shoulders a few times, exiting his office. His secretary glanced up at him, startled. “Do you need anything, sir?”

He very rarely left his office unless she knew he was going somewhere. “No. I'm going back to the estate.”

Her eyes popped slightly. This was the first time in, well, _ever_ , that Derek had left early (early being before ten. He was a very busy man). Derek smirked and walked past, buttoning up his suit coat as he did so. He went to one of the lifts, scanning his retina and heat signature and waiting the millisecond for it to recognize that it was him before the doors slid open soundlessly. He pressed the button for the garage and the lifts took off, smooth enough that he didn't feel the motion at all.

The doors slid open and Derek walked into the cool garage, heading straight for his beautiful hover car. He'd had it custom built off of this old car from before the Great Collapse. The car had been called a Camaro and when Derek had seen pictures of it, he fell in love. Or lust. Or something. Whatever it was, he kinda just wanted to rub on one off onto it. Or pee on it. Territorial thoughts and all that.

Derek was much too dignified for any of that, though, so he would merely go with marking it as his with plates, placing incredible insurance on it, putting a tracker in it, and programming his heat signature into it so that if anyone tried to drive it without Derek programming them into it would be, well, killed. By the car. (Hell yeah, man. Killer car.) Derek smirked internally at his ridiculous thoughts. He used to be one of those people who would smirk and kinda maybe snicker a little bit externally, but he'd gotten a lot of weird looks from people and a lot of teasing from Laura so that had sorta stopped.

He realized that he'd been absentmindedly stroking his Camaro and yanked his hand back as if burned. Rolling his eyes slightly, he patted the hover car before pulling one of the doors open and getting in. (If he'd been someone not programmed into the system, the handles would've tased him... Actually, any part of the car would've. It had electricity pulsing beneath it's skin, ready to lash out at the nearest thief).

Sliding into the car, he quickly activated the safety system and pulled the car out of the garage lot. He may or may not have been speeding to get home... No one needed to know. It's not like law enforcement would bother him, anyway.

Derek reached the Hale estate's drive and quickly directed his car into an empty spot in their personal garage. He was itching to find that delectable scent... He wanted now more than ever. He could feel his blood rushing down and he breathed in deeply, getting out of the hover. He strode purposefully into the estate and stood in the opulent entrance hall for the next few minutes, breathing deeply. A servant walked into the entrance hall and noticed him and gaped; he very rarely, if ever, stood still. It must've been some sort of hot commodity for her to find him doing so, and he decided to indulge her by letting her watch him for a few more minutes.

The truth was, though, he could barely stand not immediately hunting down that damn scent that had been driving him crazy, hunting it down and choking it and fucking it until it screamed. Derek smiled at his rather violent thoughts; he really did take after his uncle in some ways. Of course, he had no plans on hurting his Prey. He only wanted it to choke and gasp and moan and scream in sheer pleasure... Derek overworking the Prey until It nearly passed out and Derek could lick and kiss It back to consciousness... He felt his dick stirring and got his thoughts back under control. He couldn't act like an uncontrolled maniac when the time came, he couldn't show emotion. Emotion was not something that Derek Hale did.

He rolled his neck, cracked it, shook out his shoulders. Then, without wasting anymore time, he stalked down the hall in search of his Prey. As he strolled the halls, he sniffed the air, trying to figure out exactly where the scent was coming from. He walked past Peter's room and noted that the scent was very strong there. “Uncle?” he called, slightly hesitantly. If the Prey was Peter's... well, then, Derek might as well get over his infatuation.

“Come in, Derek.”

Derek entered his Uncle's quarters, which were beautiful and a bit too... well, overdone for Derek's tastes. There was velvet everywhere and plush carpet and a massive four poster bed. His uncle was sitting at his desk in one of the adjoined rooms, an office, and studied Derek. “What brings you here? You very rarely come into my rooms, nephew.”

“I...” Derek paused, swallowed. Peter was the only one he _ever_ felt hesitant or even scared around. “I have this... There's this... I need... What is this smell?”

Peter stared at him before bursting into laughter. “ _That's_ what you wanted to know?”

Derek nodded stiffly, “Yes, uncle. I was... curious.”

“Oh, it's just a whore I picked up off the streets the other day. He looked and smelled desperate, and smart as a whip, not to mention incredibly beautiful. I liked him, so I've been using him.” Derek let out a little whine at that and Peter looked surprised. “Do you like the way he smells that much?”

Derek nodded again, hanging his head in almost shame. He felt as if he'd done something wrong by the way his uncle was looking at him. “Yes, uncle. I can't get it out of my head. I can't work, I can't concentrate, all I can think about is that _smell_.”

“Hmm...” Peter looked him over thoughtfully before standing gracefully. “Come.”

He led the way down a few hallways, continuing on until he'd reached a part of the estate that Derek had never really been in before. There was a door where the scent was emanating from and Derek whined again. “I just played with him earlier today, so he's probably worn out. I want you to look at him, though, and if you like him... He's yours.”

Derek hesitated before opening the door before him. There was a small bed, with... the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen lying on it. The boy was stretched out, a long expanse of creamy pale skin dotted with dark moles and freckles, and the pinkest lips imaginable and chocolate hair that Derek wanted to pull immediately. The boy's eyelashes were so long, they brushed his cheeks, which had tear tracks staining their perfect beauty. And the smell.... it was new books and ink and dirt and chemicals. It was spicy mint and frosted snowflakes and spun sugar. It was heavy and sweet, yet light and cold and distant. It was full of love and pain and anger. Derek nearly sobbed, he was so in love with this boy in front of him. He couldn't think anymore, he just stepped into the room and brushed a hand against the boy. He finally noticed the red stripes all along the boy's back and legs, striping him with red. Derek bit his lip, immediately angry with Peter for tarnishing this... this magnificent boy with this brutality.

He turned to Peter with angry eyes, only to notice that Peter was looking at the pair of them with a soft, sad gaze... One Derek hadn't seen since Peter's mate had died in the fire. Mate... This creature, this _boy,_ was his _mate._ Derek knew this like he knew nothing else, and he held on. He held on tight as he brushed a hand over the boy's back and the boy jerked and sobbed, eyes flicking open to reveal the purest amber that had ever assailed Derek's senses.

“W-what do you want?” the boy whispered softly. Derek could sense his pain and he immediately began to drain it.

“I...” he paused, looking at the boy in front of him, the tear stained face, the pure eyes and lovely lips. “I want you. I want to save you and love you and have you as my own.” This boy in front of him was the only one to ever put him at a loss of words like this. Not even his uncle could top this... Nothing could top this. Nobody ever could, or would, again.  


	5. Dirty and Left Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys! I've a new chapter for you :D  
> As always, follow me on my Tumblr:  
> 100klicksaway.tumblr.com
> 
> Or whatever.  
> Also as always, you guys are amazing! I've gotten a bunch of comments and :gasp!: 300 hits since I last updated! That's a lot of reads ;D So happy :dances:
> 
> This chapter has some more tenseness: Stiles is really looking down on himself, kinda slutshaming? Ish?

**Chapter Track: Dirty and Left Out [The Almost]**

 

**I've Been Dirtier Than You Wanna Know**

 

Stiles looked up at the man before him... He was tall, dark and handsome, the stereotypical wet dream. He also had just said that he essentially wanted to possess Stiles, which was definitely rather creepy. Stiles didn't know how to deal. He hurt so much right now, a constant burning ache that exploded into flames when he moved. However, his back was much less painful than it had been earlier. He looked over the man -black suit and tie, charcoal-grey shirt, spit-shined shoes, styled dark hair, tiniest hint of a 5 o'clock shadow- and attempted to figure out what he actually wanted from him.

“I... I'm in the employment of one Peter Hale right now, actually,” he mumbled, bleary from the pain.

“Yeah, I know. I just... Peter's my uncle. I'm Derek. I... want you in my employment, I guess?” The man - _Derek_ \- seemed to stumble over his words a bit, which was interesting to Stiles. He looked like the type to be completely smooth, cut and clean and thoughtful all the time.

“Peter has to give the agreement first.”

“Oh, he already did. He and I have made an agreement between the two of us.”

Stiles was slightly worried as to what this _agreement_ entailed, but honestly, it didn't really matter. Stiles had no say in the matter, he was just a whore who'd been picked up and shamelessly used. _He_ didn't matter anymore. He felt the slight prick of tears in his eyes and turned his face away from Derek. “Okay.”

“I'm going to pick you up and move you, okay?” Derek slid a warm arm underneath Stiles' unclad belly and another under his knees, picking him up in one smooth motion and slinging him over his shoulder. “I would hold you in a more... _dignified_ way, but, uhm, your cuts and stuff? I figured they'd hurt if I did,” Derek quietly said to Stiles, a soft whisper almost.

Stiles wondered why he cared. Nobody else seemed to, why should they? He sighed softly and let Derek carry him without struggle. Derek carried him down several hallways until they reached another set of doors, which he pushed open and walked into. He gently laid Stiles down on a ridiculously soft bed, on his stomach, before backing away. Stiles took the chance to look around the room: it was minimalistic, all greys and whites and blacks and bare wood floor. It was nothing like Peter's room had been.

Stiles relaxed against the soft covers, letting out a deep breath before opening his mouth. “So... what are you planning on doing to me? Rape me?”

Derek looked appalled. “What? No! Why would I do that? I don't even know your name!”

“Because... I'm a hooker. You can do whatever you want to me. And, uh, it's Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.”

“What if I don't want to? What if... I just want to woo you, okay? I want to make you fall in love with me, and I want it to feel good, and right, because I can't help but need you, and that's more than I've told anyone in a long time, so... Not to mention, you have an incredibly odd name. What the hell's a _Stiles_?” Derek pulled a grumpy face with his very expressive eyebrows and Stiles burst into laugher.

“I'm sorry, I... I know that was serious, but your little speech about wooing me was _soooo cheesy!”_ He chuckled.

Derek growled a tiny bit. “I'm going to go get some food.” He turned on his heel and stomped out of the room and Stiles instantly regretted laughing at him. (He couldn't help how funny and grumpy looking he was,though... It wasn't Stiles' fault).

Stiles lifted his arm to pillow his cheek and thought. He'd been here at the Hale estate for almost a week. He hadn't been paid to his knowledge, nor had he seen his father. There were hospital bills due and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to get around to doing that, how he was supposed to do anything. He was helpless. He had no resources, no power. He knew that it was depreciative to think of himself in such terms, but he was a _whore._ He never had power, he never would. Not in a complex like Beacon Hills... Not in the world he lived in today.

He wished desperately, fervently, that he'd been around before the Great Collapse. He wished that he was a normal person, that... that he could be normal. But he was labeled lower class at birth. Everybody was assigned a class, and even though his father was head of the law enforcement department (the old term for that used to be Sheriff, which Stiles loved, but was nowadays Head Enforcer), Stiles' mother, Claudia, had been a simple worker... And because Stiles retained more genes of hers than of his fathers, he was also labeled a simple worker. He'd wanted to go to college, and he'd had the opportunity, because of how smart he was. That was his _one way_ out. It was his single ticket out of the hell that was going to be his life.. But because of what had happened to his dad, he was trapped. He was stuck in this world of selling his body and his soul, selling his heart and selling his mind, all to people he loathed, because he needed money.

Stiles wanted to spit, but he was scared this Derek, this second Hale, might slaughter him. Derek kind of gave him the creeps. Stiles knew _exactly_ what Peter wanted: to hurt him and gain sadistic pleasure out of it. Stiles didn't enjoy it, but at least he knew what was going on. With Derek, he had no clue what he wanted. Stiles knew that Derek had told him that he wanted to love him, but... Stiles wasn't sure what that entailed. Maybe, if he just tried really hard, he could trick Derek into believing that Stiles loved him. Maybe things would be better.

Because as of now, things weren't good. Stiles felt mind-fucked and he didn't know what to say, what to do around Derek Hale. There was a part of him that just wanted to close his eyes, close his heart, close his lungs.. stop thinking, stop breathing and just drift into the Great Unknown.

The door opened with a bang and Stiles' eyes shot open. He saw Erica rather than Derek and was surprised.

“What the hell did you do?” Erica hissed angrily, glaring at Stiles.

“What are you talking about?” Stiles was confused.

“What did you do, to get Derek to take you into his bed? You aren't supposed to be Derek's! You're supposed to be Peter's toy, the one that he eventually gets tired of and gets rid of! You were _never_ supposed to meet Derek, and yet you have, and you've _already_ hurt him!”

“I'm... sorry?”

“No, you're not!” Erica exclaimed hysterically. “You don't even know what you did wrong, you stupid little creature! I can't believe you, ugh!”

“Uhm... what did I do?” Stiles was very confused now.

“Derek thinks that you're his mate. He's never going to let go of you now. If you'd just stuck with Peter, you would've been able to get out of here at some point. Now, you're never going to be able leave. I tried so hard to make things easier for you, because I pitied you for some reason. I made it so that you'd be paid and so that you'd be able to visit your dad. But Derek is so possessive, so _oblique_ and _dominant_ that you'll never be able to get away. _Ever!_ Why would you do that?” Erica was close to tears and Stiles was speechless. He felt the need to comfort her, but he wasn't sure how to. He wasn't entirely sure why she was freaking out so much.

Then, her words hit him. Derek thought that Stiles was his _mate._ “Oh, no no no no no no no no, that's not happening!” he shrieked.

“Yeah, it kinda is! And it's all on you, this is _your_ fault,” Erica said, growling slightly. “Why would you even do this? Did you think it was a good idea?”

“I didn't do anything, dammit! I was just lying in my tiny little jail bed and then he came _swooping_ in and brought me in here. Stop trying to blame me for something I can't control,” Stiles growled right back, finally reaching his patience limit. He could really only deal with so much for so long. “What's your deal, anyway?”

“Now, not only am I going to have to deal with Derek moping all the time, because you're a sarcastic, hurtful little shit, I'm also going to have to deal with _you,_ a sarcastic, hurtful little _shit!”_ She was panting slightly, eyes flashing beta-gold. Stiles bit his lip; he knew that it wasn't good to bait weres. He also knew that he had an unfortunate talent for doing so. He wasn't sure how to remedy the situation, but he knew that he had to, somehow. “I still don't understand why you're yelling at me. I didn't do anything on purpose. This entire situation is out of my hands. I didn't want to come here in the first place. I wanted to stay in the complex, and blow random johns, and work my ass off to pay for my dad's bills and maybe visit him once every week or two. I _didn't want to be here._ Do you get that?”

While Stiles was still speaking, there was a small whine from the door. Erica's posture immediately changed from intimidating to intimidated. Stiles wondered why, so he turned and looked at the open door and saw... Derek. Who had just heard every angry word that Stiles had spewed.

He was suddenly curious as to how much/how bad of a punishment he'd receive for stating his opinion. If Derek Hale was anything like his uncle, there was _bound_ to be a sadistic, gory punishment in Stiles' near future.

“Erica. If you could please excuse us,” Derek's voice was soft, low. Erica winced again and practically slunk out of the room. Derek shut the door softly behind her and stalked toward Stiles. His movements were rolling and predatory and beautiful and Stiles was confused as to why he was so attracted to this man, but he didn't really want to question it.

Derek stopped right beside Stiles, laying a hand on his back and gently rubbing a spot between his shoulder blades. Stiles arched into the touch and Derek smiled softly. “So, you don't want to be here that badly, huh?”

Stiles froze. “Uhm... Do you want the honest answer or the answer that I think you want to hear?”

“I'm a werewolf, Stiles. I'm going to know whether or not you're lying; give me the honest answer.”

“Well, no, I don't want to be here.”

“Why not?” Derek pulled his hand away and Stiles knew instantly that he'd hurt his feelings, but decided to keep being honest with him, to not sugarcoat anything.

“I feel like I'm imprisoned, and I don't like it. I mean, sure, i'm getting food and a bed and that's all fine and dandy, but I don't have any freedom. Back in the complex, I was living on the streets and fending other urchins for meals, but at least I knew that I could do practically whatever I wanted to. I could go out and have sex and conversations with whoever I wanted to, whenever I wanted to. I could do all sorts of things that I don't have the liberty to do here. I could turn down clients, or tell them they were too rough and to back off. I don't have the freedom to do that here, and that's the biggest issue. My freedom is _so_ important to me, and being here has completely taken that from me...” Stiles trailed off at Derek's facial expression.

“If you feel so strongly about it... I want you to leave. I want to take care of you, but... I want you to be happy. So I have some thoughts as to what I'm going to do, but only if you agree to some specific conditions.”

“What sort of conditions? And what are you thinking about doing?”

“I'm considering paying for an apartment for you in the complex, and giving you credits and the like. I'll be completely taking care of you, but you'll have all the opportunities to express your choices and free will and all that. You can buy what you want, eat what you want, do whatever you want... as long as you don't have any physical or emotional contact with anyone else. You can have friends, but nothing more.”

Stiles gaped at Derek, wide eyed and open mouthed. “W-what? You'd actually do that for me? Why?”

“Because you're my _mate_. I want to protect you and provide for you and make you happy, even if it makes me unhappy.”

“Why would it make you unhappy, though, if you're doing the whole protection and provision thing?”

Derek glared at him slightly and Stiles startled, flinching away. Derek softened his look before running a hand through his hair. “I want to stay close to you all the time. I want you to be near me 24/7, and if you're living in an apartment by yourself, that obviously can't happen. That's the bit that will make me unhappy. I don't like the idea of not being around you constantly.”

“So... you're overprotective...”

Derek glared at him again before answering tersely. “ _Yes.”_

 _“_ That's actually rather exciting. I've always wanted someone to be overprotective of me. Of course, my dad has been, but he's not really capable of doing that right now, so... Not to mention, he's not a romantic partner. I could totally do romance with you, actually. You should just start wooing me right away!” Stiles chirped. He didn't know what it was about Derek, but he put him into a good mood. He made him, oddly enough, _happy._

 

 


End file.
